SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 568: The Boy in the Quiet Room

"Greetings to you as well. How have things been?"

Bartholomew's face immediately brightened.

"Good, very good," he affirmed, adjusting his spectacles with two fingers in his characteristic manner when aiming for an appearance of composure he didn't quite feel. "Cynthia is currently inside, assisting with the ongoing renovations. What are your impressions?"

Trafalgar's gaze swept over the orphanage's grounds.

During his initial visit, the place had exuded an aged charm, a common trait of humble establishments. The structure, a sizable three-story building adorned with ivy, bore the mark of time with its weathered paint, yet possessed a warmth that even opulent residences couldn't replicate, regardless of their stony grandeur. At that time, the roof clearly needed attention, the hallways echoed with the quiet weariness of a place simply enduring each season, and still, the children's laughter imbued it with a vibrancy surpassing that of many mansions.

Now, the transformation was readily apparent.

The roof had undergone proper repairs. One facade of the exterior boasted fresh paint, a stark contrast to the formerly weathered and tired appearance of the old walls. New lumber and tools were gathered near the side entrance, and a section of the yard was designated for materials. While not renovated into something lavish, the building no longer conveyed the impression of being perpetually on the brink of disrepair from the slightest inclement weather.

"It appears significantly improved," Trafalgar stated. "Substantially so."

Barth offered a quiet, humble smile, reflecting a gentle pride that didn't seek to inflate itself. "Yes. It truly does."

The moment they passed through the gate, the familiar atmosphere from his first encounter returned.

Children dashed across the courtyard, their shoes inadequately tied and their knees bearing scrapes, a half-finished ball constructed from patched fabric lay nearby, voices drifted from open windows, and the air carried the mingled scents of baking bread, dust, and freshly cut wood brought indoors.

Some of the younger children spotted Barth first and hurried towards him, immediately latching onto his arms. A small girl paused near Trafalgar, evidently contemplating whether he presented a figure of intimidation or admiration.

Likely a combination of both.

Before he could utter a word, a recognizable voice reached their ears.

"Bartholomew. You've returned remarkably swiftly."

Sister Lunea traversed the courtyard, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a cloth still dangling from one hand. Her smile remained unchanged, embodying both gentleness and practicality, the kind that emanates from years of making formidable situations seem manageable for children.

"And you've brought him along again." She directed the same warmth towards Trafalgar. "Welcome back, Mister Morgain."

"Trafalgar is perfectly fine," he replied. "And as I mentioned before, much of this was due to Barth's efforts."

Sister Lunea's expression softened into the patient smile adults often display when they've resolved to politely disregard modesty.

"And I reiterated that I am thanking both of you." She gestured vaguely towards the roof above them. "You can observe the results yourself. The repairs are holding exceptionally well. The children will not face dripping ceilings this autumn."

Barth sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "We still have considerable work ahead."

"Which is precisely why you are here," Lunea stated, her tone so straightforward that Trafalgar nearly chuckled.

Cynthia emerged from the side entrance just as he was about to respond. Her attire bore faint traces of dust, and a stray strand of white hair had escaped its confines near her cheek. She halted upon noticing his presence, her expression shifting subtly in that swift, almost imperceptible manner she seemed unaware others could detect.

"You actually materialized."

Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. "You phrase that as if my reliability is in question."

"You possess numerous qualities," Cynthia retorted. "Reliability is not consistently at the forefront."

Barth, finding himself caught between their playful sparring, wisely opted out of participating. Trafalgar glanced past her, his attention drawn to the construction materials visible within. "Are you lending a hand with the renovations?"

"Evidently."

Before Trafalgar could offer a retort, another voice emanated from beyond the open doorway.

"So, this is the young man causing my girl undue distress once more."

Sister Alena stepped into the sunlight.

She appeared much as Trafalgar recalled: fair skin, elegant black horns curving backward from her temples, and dark robes that, while simple, lent her an air of refinement. She carried herself with a quiet grace that seemed to temper the surrounding courtyard's liveliness.

"Distress?" Trafalgar questioned. "That seems rather unfair."

Alena offered a smile. "Excellent. Then you shall endure being treated unfairly for this one sentence."

Cynthia briefly closed her eyes. "Sister..."

Alena smoothly disregarded the interjection and approached, her focus settling on Trafalgar with the same keen intelligence he remembered from their initial meeting. "You've returned. This suggests either a profound kindness on your part, or that Bartholomew and Cynthia have become significantly more adept at compelling individuals to their desired locations."

"Either the second, or perhaps the first," Trafalgar responded.

"That's a relief to hear.Boys who claim to be entirely good make me suspicious."

His statement elicited a chuckle from him.

Lunea shook her head, a smile playing on her lips as well. "Don't pay her any mind. She's even more difficult when she's happy."

"I become more candid," Alena countered. Her gaze flickered momentarily towards

the mended hall and the ceiling above. "However, since you are present, I will reiterate. This entire endeavor would not have progressed so swiftly without the crucial assistance channeled through Bartholomew."

Trafalgar quirked a slight grimace at that. "And I will repeat my thanks. A significant portion of the success was due to Barth, you see."

Barth nearly sputtered, struggling to catch his breath. "M-me?"

"Indeed, you," Trafalgar affirmed. "You expertly managed the situation, delivered the necessary resources, and ensured their effective implementation."

Lunea offered an accompanying nod. "He certainly did."

Alena clasped her hands loosely before her. "Therefore, I shall persist in expressing my gratitude to both of you until one of you finally condescends to accept it."

Trafalgar exhaled through his nose. "That sounds incredibly tiresome."

"It is," Cynthia chimed in. "You ought to cease your efforts now."

Alena's eyes shifted from Trafalgar to Cynthia, and the subsequent smile held an underlying current that Trafalgar found rather unsettling.

"You know," she remarked conversationally, "if the future successor of House Morgain consistently visits this place, it might be prudent to consider that his intentions extend beyond mere philanthropic endeavors."

"Cynthia could certainly benefit from a consort capable of engaging in a coherent dialogue."

Cynthia froze mid-step.

Barth lowered his gaze with a speed that was almost remarkable.

Trafalgar let out a laugh.

It flowed more effortlessly than anticipated, largely because Alena had delivered her statement with such composed nonchalance that the intended provocation felt surprisingly mild.

Cynthia, conversely, flushed a deep crimson in a manner she clearly despised. "Sister Alena."

"And what is it?" Alena inquired. "He possesses strength, affluence, and at the very least, a modicum of domestic training."

"You could certainly fare worse."

Lunea partially concealed her face with a hand. "Alena."

"I did say, moderately trained."

This remark prompted another burst of laughter from Trafalgar, and this time, Cynthia reacted before any further words could be spoken. She advanced, grasped his wrist, and began to tow him towards the parallel corridor.

"We are departing."

Trafalgar allowed himself to be pulled along with only a token show of resistance. "You exhibit a rather forceful demeanor when feeling embarrassed."

"I am not embarrassed."

"Of course."

She shot him a sidelong glare over her shoulder and continued her determined stride.

No verbal reply was offered. She simply pressed onward, her ears tinged with a faint red hue, which only served to deepen his amused expression.

The interior hallway echoed with the familiar wooden creak underfoot, though certain aspects had undergone transformation since his initial arrival. One section of the wall had been freshly painted. A neatly folded pile of blankets awaited near a semi-ajar doorway. New planks were positioned along one side, indicating ongoing repairs to a section of the floor being addressed incrementally.

Cynthia finally released his wrist once they had established a sufficient distance from the courtyard.

"Sister Alena has a tendency to voice whatever comes to her mind," she muttered, her irritation palpable and certainly more pronounced than she wished to convey. "And once she begins, there is virtually no way to halt her pronouncements."

Trafalgar cast a glance her way. "I noticed that phenomenon."

"Do not." "Do not do what, precisely?"

"Do not find amusement in it."

That specific instruction almost triggered another laugh from him.

Before he could formulate a response, his attention was drawn past her figure.

One of the smaller, adjoining rooms was partially open, and within, positioned near the window, sat a boy he had never encountered before. The child appeared to be around eight years old, possessing dark hair, a slender build, and small horns emerging from his scalp.

Trafalgar's expression underwent a visible shift.

"That boy is new," he stated. "I did not observe him during my previous visit."

Cynthia subtly turned her head, mirroring his gaze.

"Ah. Him." Her tone immediately softened. "Yes. He arrived here not too long ago."

A subtle warmth radiated against Trafalgar's fingertip.

The ring.

A system notification flickered into existence at the periphery of his vision.

[Heirloom of the First Lord - Unique Rank] [Warning: hidden bloodline signature detected nearby] Trafalgar fixed his gaze upon the child. 'Seriously!?'